Jake White The BeginningChapter 8
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Paris! Gay Paree, city of love and romance and ... to be honest, Victoria wasn’t overly impressed. Oh, there were smart new buildings, street long facades fronted fine apartments, but around the back there were the slums where the poor lived, and the smell on a hot day, well ... not much different to London, or indeed Bristol. There were, rather like London, many churches, and a magnificent cathedral, although she felt on balance that Wren’s masterpiece was better, neater, tidier, didn’t have those buttress things everywhere making it look like an unfleshed skeleton. And of course it wasn’t Church of England. There were palaces of course, the Tuileries Palace and the Louvre, and they had an Emperor! Did he outrank the Queen she wondered? There were lots of elegantly dressed men and women, no lords or ladies, but Comtes and Comtesses, Victoria wasn’t quite sure where they ranked, but they all seemed to parade up and down the boulevards from mid morning ‘til night. And then there were the soldiers! It almost seemed that each one had a different gaily coloured uniform, she supposed they knew whether they were cavalry or whatever, but it must be awfully difficult for an opposing army to tell the difference. There were many art galleries you could visit, and there was opera, and theatres, and of course restaurants. But the Left Bank with its cafés filled with artists and intellectuals, now that was worth coming all the way for!
Victoria was, as one might well suppose, feeling rather out of sorts. She put it down to the water, but truth to tell, and as she well knew, her monthly visitor was due.
Siobhan and Roisin had greeted her enthusiastically. They were not, she thought, any less full of themselves. They had, however, definitely changed, matured perhaps, and it would seem for the better, and they were looking forward to going home.
There was one thing she could do without, however. Every man she met, particularly at Maison Pamplemousse seemed intent on propositioning her, even when their wives were trying on dresses no more than a few feet, no, metres, away. She had to admit that some of them were ... quite persuasive, but until she made up her mind regarding Peter Hatherley - she had, of course, made the connection between Jake’s nemesis and Lord Kingswood - she was not going to get involved with anyone. It was fortunate that she was only there for a few days. Temptation! The one problem she came back to every time was Gin. What would she do if Victoria decided that becoming Lady Kingswood was the right thing for her to do? Always supposing she was asked, of course!
She spoke to Madame Rosé about the male attention.
“Oh! But you must expect it! - Frenchmen are so virile!” Madame Pamplemousse exclaimed, and then she looked thoughtful. “Mind you, your Jake is ... he could be a Frenchman!”
“He does not go around pinching ladies bottoms, or worse,” Victoria told her.
It was true, some of them were rather free with their hands, and one in particular had turned his attention to Myfanwy.
There were a number of people in the salon when he obviously stepped well beyond the mark with Myfanwy. She was so furious that she forgot her English and berated him loudly in Welsh, her native tongue.
When she wound down there was a shocked silence. Then a woman on the far side of the salon clapped.
“Well done, ma petite,” she said. “I do not speak your language well, but I am from Brittany, and I understood what you said. And you M’sieur should be ashamed of yourself. The girl is no more than a child.”
The man’s wife had turned and fixed him with what Victoria imagined was the nearest thing to the ‘evil eye’, and he muttered something about an appointment and left hurriedly, which was as well because Josephine’s attention had been caught, and she would protect Myfanwy to the death. Strangely Josephine did not suffer from this indignity. Perhaps, Victoria considered, men sensed what might happen if they tried.
That Myfanwy was no more than a child was not strictly true, of course. She was eighteen, but still quite tiny, and appeared to be completely lacking a bosom. The lady who clapped came across and introduced herself as Madame Cecille du Bois.
“And you are?” she asked
Myfanwy curtseyed. “Myfanwy, Madame.”
“And you are one of the new English girls, yes?”
“Yes, Madame. Me and Josephine,” Myfanwy replied, indicating her friend.
“But neither of you are English,” Cecille du Bois went on, looking towards Josephine.
“No, Madame,” Myfanwy smiled, “I am Welsh and Josephine is American.”
“Welsh,” Madame du Bois repeated thoughtfully. “Ah! Pays de Galles. You are here to learn to design?”
“We are here to find out how the French design, Madame,” Myfanwy replied, and drawing herself up to her full height she went on. “We are already designers in Bristol and London, and we model too.”
“But you must model dresses for young girls,” said Madame du Bois. “In France young girls wear what they are given.”
“We have a range of fashions for young ladies called ‘Miss Victoria’. It has been very successful.”
“So if I brought my daughter to you, you could design for her?” Madame du Bois asked.
“Oui Madame, but you would have to ask Madame Pamplemousse, of course, Madame,” Myfanwy replied diplomatically. “But we would be pleased to do it. I’m sure Mademoiselle du Bois is as lovely as her mama.”
“Flattery will get you a long way, my dear. I shall think about it.”
Jake was rather taken aback when Hermione announced that he would be taking over the running of the estate.
“I know nothing of farming or running an estate,” he spluttered.
“No different to running any other business, I’m sure,” Hermione replied.
“I’m really not sure about that,” Jake replied. “Besides, I live in Bristol, and this is hardly on my doorstep is it? And what of the finances? It loses money at the present time, and it is by the grace of whatever,” Jake extemporised, “that Aunt Edith now owns it.”
“I’ve never been called a ‘whatever’ before,” Hermione laughed.
“Ermm, yes well, I didn’t want to say that if you hadn’t shot your uncle,” said Jake. “But that is the truth. I’m sure he couldn’t have known about the state it’s in.”
“He wasn’t my uncle. But something has to be done, and I told Aunt Edith that you were the man. I also said it was best to keep it in the family.”
“Oh! Moral blackmail, that’s stooping a bit low...”
At this moment Lord Kingswood arrived.
“Uncle Peter!” Hermione jumped up and gave him a hug. “It’s good of you to come.”
“Did I hear a meaningful discussion in progress?” Peter Hatherley enquired.
“I’ve just told Jake that he has got to take over the estate and make it profitable,” Hermione told him. “But he doesn’t seem to think it can be done.”
“I didn’t say that,” said Jake. “And may I say you are a welcome sight, Lord Kingswood. What I said was that I didn’t think I was the right man for the job. But more important than that at the moment, is what is going to happen over the death of your brother?”
“We’ll put it down as heart failure,” said Lord Kingswood.
“Heart failure!” exclaimed Jake. “He’s got a hole in his head.”
“Strictly that is true, but his heart has stopped hasn’t it?”
“Well, yes, it has ... I see what you mean. Heart failure it is then,” Jake wondered if there was any end to the obfuscation that was practised beneath the public face of the affairs of state, and decided there probably wasn’t. After all, if you were dead, your heart had failed. How and why weren’t overly important.
“I need some fresh air,” Jake went on. “I’ll leave you two to catch up.”
When Jake left the room, Peter Hatherley looked at his niece.
“He’s gone to think about it. He needs to look around and get a feel for what’s here. He’ll talk to me after dinner with his proposals.” he told her.
“How on earth can you know that?” asked Hermione.
He laughed, “I didn’t pick him at random, my dear. I realised he was a bright chap when he spotted the Yankee trick with ‘Moonfleet’, so I investigated him. He’d already picked Underwoods up, had some luck too, but everyone is entitled to some of that occasionally, and then he started the fashion business, so I know my man. Speaking of the fashion business, what is your opinion of Victoria?”
“Victoria?” asked Hermione. “She’s a really nice person, caring, looks after her people, but determined. I’d say she was wedded to that business. Why? Oh no, you’re not thinking of...”
“It had occurred to me, but you don’t think it would be a good idea?”
“On the contrary. I think it would be an excellent idea, Bea would be absolutely delighted too, but you’d have to accept that Lady Kingswood would be a business woman. You’ll not part her from that.” Hermione replied.
“D’you know, I wouldn’t want to. I’ve come to respect women who want to control their lives and do something other than just leading a frivolous life. Victoria fits that bill.”
“Have you spoken to her?”
“Beatrice invited her to supper, trying to matchmake. Victoria was quite cross with her, as I was myself. But then I realised that she is my ideal woman. I’ve said no more than that I should like to meet with her on her return from Paris. I need to speak to Jake, too. After all he is the head of the family. Wouldn’t do to upset him would it?” he grinned.
Gina was thoroughly enjoying Paris. She had a hand held camera, in fact the reflex that she had acquired, and was happily taking Parisian scenes by day, and some by night once she had worked out the exposure time. Some of the pictures were more art than actual images of what was there, and this caused quite a stir with the friends she had made in the cafes of the west bank which she was frequenting.
“You must come and meet my new friends,” she implored Victoria. “You will love them, so bohemian, and very impressed with my work.”
It didn’t take a great deal of persuasion to get Victoria to go one evening. Gina took her to a small cafe where there were a number of people, mainly young, but with one or two older men. Gina was welcomed by name and she introduced Victoria to her new friends. The conversation flowed, although Victoria’s French was barely good enough to keep up, but she was fascinated by some of the ideas she heard. They were swept along with the crowd when they all decided to go to someone’s apartment. One or two dropped by the wayside, so there were fewer than in the cafe. Victoria noticed that there was one woman, a rather exotic looking Russian she thought, who seemed to take a particular interest in Gina and herself. It was late when they got back to their hotel with an invitation to visit the studio of one of the artists the next day.
When they met for breakfast the next morning Victoria asked Gina about the woman.
“Ah, you mean Olga, Countess Olga Bluitoff; she wants to take me to Moscow and be my patron,” Gina replied.
“And does that interest you?” Victoria asked.
“It does have a certain appeal, travel, beautiful mysterious woman ... you know,” said Gina.
“No, not really. And I’d be fairly certain she was only interested in women,” said Victoria, thoughtfully. “Does she know about you? You know...”
“I don’t know. Does it matter?” Gina frowned.
“It might.”
Several hours later a cab dropped them at the address of Edouard Manet’s studio. Edouard greeted them with enthusiasm.
“I wasn’t sure you would come, but I was hoping to hear more of your ideas,” he told them.
“Gina is the artist,” said Victoria. “She does things with her camera that show things that are not really there. Ah! A chaise longue, this might be your studio Gina.”
Victoria sat and swung her legs up onto the chaise.
Gina laughed at the pose.
“I’ve had a fair number of nudes on my chaise,” she commented. “And that pose reminds me of that photograph of you I took. Except that you had rather less clothing on.”
Victoria blushed.
“And that one has seen a few,” Edouard laughed. “Ah! Here is one of them,” he went on as a very beautiful woman in a loose wrap came into the studio.
“What is that, Edouard?” she asked.
“Victorine, this is Victoria and Gina, they are English, Victorine is my model,” he told them. “Gina is the photographer I told you about, Victorine, producing those amazing images. But what is this picture you speak of Gina?”
“Oh it was it bit of fun,” said Gina. “One of the things which has caused us some amusement is the ease with which ladies can be encouraged to remove their clothing for the camera. Anyone from young girls up to middle aged, it really is amazing. I persuaded Victoria one day, and when she was laid along the chaise longue I went behind and stood looking over her. The composition was quite remarkable.”
Edouard looked at Victoria and raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, no!” said Victoria, sitting up. “I’m sure Victorine would be much better than me.”
Edouard looked at Victorine and held out his hand toward the chaise and the girls changed places.
Victorine allowed the wrap to fall away exposing her naked form.
Gina stood alongside Edouard.
“She looks like a...”
“She does,” Edouard laughed. “But we need more. You say you were standing behind?”
Gina went to the position she had occupied in the original picture.
“If you are going to cast me as a whore,” said Victorine, sarcastically, “then perhaps she should be my maid. Perhaps she could bring me some flowers from an admirer.”
“Yes, yes!” Edouard exclaimed excitedly. “That’s it! It’ll take Paris by storm! I shall call it Olympia!”
Victorine’s eyes looked heavenwards.
“The things I do for art,” she shook her head. “If I am a whore, would it not be better if I were in a bed?”
“Yes, yes! We’ll get pillows and sheets. I can leave the back of the chaise out. Sensational!”
“And Laure could be the maid. She would be just right,” said Victorine.
“Yes, you are right, I’ll send her a note, and I shall include a black cat as a symbol of femininity!”
Edouard was busy setting up a large canvas.
“Ladies, Forgive me!” he said to Victoria and Gina. “I am being very inhospitable, but...”
“Do not concern yourself, Edouard,” said Victoria. “I understand. Really I am quite used to working with artists, I employ couturiers and they can be ... difficult. But I know when you have an idea it has to be dealt with.”
Jake returned just in time to have a bath and dress for dinner. He was the last to arrive downstairs for an aperitif, and was greeted with a raised eyebrow from Hermione.
“You must have a lot more space in that valise of yours than I would have thought,” she said with a smile.
“Well you know what they say about sailors,” replied Jake.
“I know several things they say about sailors,” Hermione replied. “One or two might shock Aunt Edith.”
“Really, Hermione,” said Aunt Edith, “if they are that bad you must have been mixing in some very undesirable company.”
“That would be my fault,” said Lord Kingswood. “Perhaps I should never have sent her off with Jake.”
There was general laughter as Brightman came in to announce dinner before Hermione could return to her question.
The meal was excellent with an interesting general conversation, little about the estate until:
“Did you meet the witch?” Hermione asked Jake.
“Mrs Waterford isn’t a witch,” said Aunt Edith firmly. “She produces medicines for the local people. They say she’s very good.”
“What about her granddaughter, Mary?”
“Ah yes, I did see her,” said Jake. “She seemed ... a bit simple, but it could just have been very shy.”
“Not as simple as you might think,” said Aunt Edith. “She can be quite sharp when she wants something. Pretty girl too”
“Did you not notice that, Jake?” Hermione grinned.
At the end of the meal the duchess commanded Hermione to accompany her to the drawing room. Hermione would rather have stayed, but protocol triumphed even in the family.
Brightman placed a decanter of port in front of Lord Kingswood.
“Brightman,” said Jake. “My compliments to cook, an excellent dinner.”
“Thank you, Sir Jacob. Cook will be very happy to know you enjoyed it, sir. She was delighted to make the gooseberry dessert for you.”
Lord Kingswood helped himself to port, and passed the decanter to Jake who poured himself a glass.
“I can see why your staff are so loyal to you, Jake. A compliment to cook is one to Brightman and his staff.”
Jake shrugged.
“It costs nothing, but does much good. My people are the value of my business day to day, Lord Kingswood, without them I would not be able to do many of the things I do. I pay them above the rate, I praise them when they do well, and if they make an error we go through it to make sure it doesn’t happen again. It’s simple really, I will not put profit before people, so generally I make more profit.”
“Yes, I can see that,” said Lord Kingswood. “Indeed I do see it in the returns on investment that you achieve. What do you think of the late Duke’s cellar?”
“His wines were good,” said Jake, he savoured the port. “But this is truly excellent, a good vintage, well aged.”
“He did enjoy all the good things in life, unfortunately many of them are deadly vices. I can only say that the best thing he did for my sister was drink himself to death before he had spent or gambled everything away.”
“Not an epitaph I should want for myself,” said Jake.
“Nor I. Have you had any thoughts about the estate here?”
“I spent the afternoon walking over a lot of the land, and an hour or so talking to Williams, the gardener. I seems the estate hasn’t been in operation since the Duke succeeded his father, so probably twenty years. Much of the land has returned to scrub, and it will take time and a lot of labour to get it back. This estate should employ as many as one hundred people, instead it employs no one. There is no income, and the surrounding villages that should be thriving are not. The land is good quality and could produce milk, beef and lamb, vegetables, and being flat would respond easily to the new steam ploughs to produce grain. What it will need is someone who knows how to run it, and a large investment. There are workers’ cottages that need renovating, new barns and a dairy would be required ... just about everything. Even the old carts are rotten.”
“I see...”
Both men savoured their port, both deep in thought.
“So what would you recommend?” asked Lord Kingswood.
“First thing would be to employ a good firm of surveyors who could look at the estate and make a report on what needs to be done in detail, together with costings. Then we could make up our minds as to whether it is worth doing. If it is, then we need a good man to manage it.”
“And what do you feel about it?” Lord Kingswood asked.
“I feel it would be worth doing, but I’ll reserve final judgement until I have a report in my hands.”
“Excellent, will you go ahead and put that in motion?” said Lord Kingswood.
“I will. I’ll see if there is someone in Boston on my way back to Bristol,” said Jake.
“Whilst we are alone,” said Lord Kingswood, “there is one other thing. I am very taken with your sister-in-law Miss Underwood. My daughter has had a lot of dealings with her and I think that her recovery mentally is very largely down to her. I have been very ... impressed. I should like to explore the possibility that we might take it further, but your approval would be ... welcomed.”
“You take me by surprise My Lord,” Jake replied. “But in principle I can see no objection. You must realise, however, that Victoria is a very independent woman. I may have created the fashion business, but she has made it her own.”
“I don’t think that would be any problem” he smiled. “And you have one of those independent women in Hermione too. To be honest, I’ve grown to prefer independent women, they take decisions and get on with things. Shall we join the ladies?”
Later that evening Jake’s bedroom door opened to admit Hermione.
“Hermione! What are you doing here?” asked Jake.
“I came to see you. And I want the answers to two questions.”
“Only two questions? You’ve usually more than that!” said Jake.
“I do not! You make it sound as though I’m always prying!” Hermione replied indignantly.
“Well?”
“Oh! You are impossible! Is this what it’ll be like when we are married. Oh, but you haven’t proposed to me yet!” Hermione pouted.
“I haven’t had time to buy a ring,” said Jake reasonably.
“The ring doesn’t matter! I shall expect one with large sparkly stones on it though!” she smiled and held out her left hand.
Jake went down on one knee, took her hand and kissed it.
“Lady Hermione Russington,” he began. “Will you do me the honour of becoming Lady White?”
“Hmm ... I shall have to think about it, after all Lady Russington outranks Lady white. I’m not sure ... Now, those questions,” Hermione said.
“Yes,” said Jake, “questions. Tell me, why wasn’t Timothy your uncle, and if he wasn’t, who or what was he?”
“He was my father.”
“Your father? So who was your mother?”
“A maid,” Hermione replied.
“So where does the Russington come from?”
“Aunt Edith is my aunt, but she is also my adopted mother. The Russington name comes from the Duke, it’s the family name.”
“Clear as mud. Never mind, love conquers all,” Jake replied.
“Love?” Hermione cuddled up close to Jake.
“You’ve kind of grown on me,” replied Jake, kissing her.
Which is what they spent the next while doing, before Jake stood her up and, after a few more minutes kissing and cuddling, he managed to get a protesting Hermione through the door. He was constantly amazed at his restraint with her.
Victoria hadn’t seen Gina for several days. She had been busy with various aspects of business and assumed that Gina was out photographing Paris. The day before they were due to return to England Victoria made a point of finding Gina. She was already annoyed with Gina because she had wanted some photographs taken for the business. She found Gina in her room packing.
“Oh good, you’re getting ready for tomorrow,” said Victoria.
“No, I’m leaving, I’m not coming back to England,” Gina replied.
“Don’t be silly, of course you are. What else are you going to do,” snapped Victoria.
“I’m not being silly. I’m going with Olga to Russia,” Gina almost stamped her foot.
“You can’t do that! What would your mother say?” Victoria was beginning to get cross.
“What has my mother got to do with it? She just abandoned me in Bristol.”
“Your mother didn’t abandon you, you wanted to stay with me. And what about your studio?” asked Victoria, “and the photographs you do for Victoria’s?”
“That was then and I’m fed up with that, I want a new challenge, and taking photos in Russia is it.”
“I created you as Gina. Before that you were just an inarticulate boy. And you can’t just go off on your own.”
The volume of the argument was rapidly increasing
“You talk as though you own me! I won’t be on my own, I’ll be with Olga.”
“And what happens when she gets fed up with the novelty?” asked Victoria.
“Novelty?” Gina screamed. “Novelty? Is that what I am? Something you keep in the attic and send people up to snigger at.”
“Well it’s better than what you were,” Victoria shouted back at her. “You would still be in your smelly shed unable to talk to anyone.”
“You bitch,” shouted Gina, picking up a china jug and hurled it at Victoria.
Victoria dodged the missile.
“Now you’re trying to kill me. Well you won’t succeed like you did with your father,” Victoria hurled back at her and stormed out, pausing only to shout, “and don’t expect me to come running after you when she leaves you in the middle of nowhere!”
As with all arguments between erstwhile lovers things had been said which could not be unsaid, and going back was only possible in the moment. As soon as Victoria left the rift became permanent.
The next day Victoria felt miserable. She knew she shouldn’t have said many of the things she did, but why did Gina have to be so infuriating? She’d always shown that ‘going her own way’ streak, but then, she realised she had that herself. Victoria couldn’t make up her mind whether she was more upset with herself or with Gina. It didn’t do a lot for her mood, particularly after a sleepless night. She had gone back to Gina’s room later, but she had already left, and Victoria had no idea where Olga lived. She was very silent as she took the twins, Siobhan and Roisin, and left Paris by train on their way back to Bristol. The twins were unusually quiet too, although whether that was because they could sense Victoria’s mood, or because they were sad to leave Paris wasn’t clear.
“There is no way that you have evening dress in that valise,” Hermione was seeing Jake off at the station.
“Of course not,” replied Jake. “Silly idea, wouldn’t fit.”
“So ... Brightman! You seem to have all the staff at Wraxall Old Hall wrapped around your fingers. Even Aunt Edith seems to be under your spell,” said Hermione.
“People just seem to want to do things for me, and Brightman has a little stock of suitable clothing just in case someone should be in need. And Aunt Edith seems to think that rescuing you so many times makes me a kind of hero.”
“That must be why I love you. That and your insufferable arrogance!” said Hermione.
“By the way, have those stripes on your delectable bottom disappeared yet?” asked Jake.
“You had the opportunity to find out last night! I’ve recovered my ladylike sensibilities since then, so you’ll have to wait a while to find out. And here comes your train. I’ll be back in London next week, come and see me. You never know your luck!”
An hour later Jake called on Messrs Ratskill and Cattermole & Mouser, Land Surveyors. A young clerk took his card and returned a few minutes later to conduct him into the office of Mr Cattermole, a small rather mouselike man. He was balding, with a bush of hair over his ears and greying mutton chop whiskers.
“Sir Jacob, please sit down, how may I be of assistance?” Cattermole greeted Jake.
“I am betrothed to Lady Hermione Russington, niece of the Duchess of Skegness. The Duchess lives at Wraxall Old Hall and there is a considerable estate, about three thousand acres she believes. The estate has been left for perhaps twenty years, and is in poor condition. The Duchess has asked me to look into getting the estate running and profitable. I have a range of businesses, but nothing that qualifies me to make decisions on a matter of this nature, until I have advice from someone such as yourself.”
“I see, yes. I know of Wraxall, of course, but it was Mr Ratskill, sadly no longer with us, who dealt with the estate years ago when the old Duke was alive. When the last Duke inherited he was no longer interested and we were told our services were no longer required. I take it from what you say that you would like us to give advice on the estate.”
“I’m sorry, Mr Cattermole, I was unaware of that. Will that affect a future relationship?”
“Oh no! No, certainly not,” Sir Jacob. “No, I merely said that to give you the background. No, we would be delighted to act for you in this matter. May I offer you refreshment?”
I turned out that, as would be expected, Mr Ratskill’s papers had been filed away together with all the information about the estate so there was a good base to work from. Jake explained that he would be making the major decisions regarding the business, but would need to employ someone on the ground to carry out the day to day running. He explained that he was open to any suggestions as to what could be produced, and also explained his attitude towards employees.
“That is all most satisfactory, Sir Jacob. We will get on to it right away. Since we have many records to work from I would anticipate that we would be able to carry out the survey and provide our recommendations and costings quite quickly. Is the matter of some urgency?”
“I wouldn’t say urgent, Mr Cattermole, but I am a businessman and when I start on something I see little point in allowing the grass to grow under my feet.”
“Quite so, quite so, Sir Jacob,” Mr Cattermole agreed. “We will proceed with all reasonable dispatch. I would anticipate that we would have some preliminary suggestions by the end of the month. Would that be satisfactory?”
Jake agreed that it would.
“By the way, Sir Jacob, are you a racing man?”
“Only with my ships at present,” Jake laughed. “What did you have in mind?”
Grace
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